The Contract
by gleekinkfiller
Summary: Quintana. D/s society where Doms can be hired to "correct" the behavior of people on a crash-course for disaster. Dom!Quinn. Dubcon so hard it's very nearly complete noncon, so you've been warned. May not ever be continued. Please do not request it to be as I have other projects with more interest that I'm working on right now.


**A/N:** So this is a thing I started writing for my own version of a sort of D/s society fic, buuut I haven't finished it or worked on it in forever. It's possible I might write more someday, but right now I really don't know because it's been so long since I touched it that I've forgotten most of what I was doing with it. Just thought you might want to see what there was of it. Might even throw the basic idea on the GKM as a prompt and see if anyone bites.

**Warning:** Dubcon so hard it's very close to complete noncon.

* * *

The dark haired woman in leather pants and jacket scowled into her tenth double shot of the night. She'd scared off three different women and two guys who'd tried to chat her up with a glare that could peel blister battle-hardened steel at ten paces. Even the bartender had opted to leave her alone when she'd started grumbling into the amber liquid.

She couldn't believe the blonde she'd had wrapped around her finger had dumped her. Her! All because she wouldn't freaking ask her to _marry_ her! "Who the hell does that bitch think she is anyway?" she growled before shooting back the shot in her hand and scudding the back of her hand across her full red lips. "Just cause she's flexible as fuck and up for anything in bed does _not_ mean she's fucking _tamed_ Santana fucking _Lopez_!"

She slammed the shot down. "Bartender, gimme another!"

"Miss, I really think..." He began only to be scowled down.

"I don't fucking _pay_ you to _think_! Give me another fucking _shot_!" She scowled until it slid into her hand. "Fuck you," she grumbled, glaring at him. "And fuck Brittany Pierce too while you're at it."

She shot the drink back, slamming it on the bar right after. "Another!"

* * *

She didn't know how she got back to the hotel, but she could smell the familiar vague mustiness and cheap perfume on the sheets covering her head when she stirred. Her head felt like a million bees buzzing about behind her eyes and she groaned in pain, groping vaguely out from under the covers for the bottle of whiskey she kept in the nightstand. It was the same thing every time she got plastered out of her mind. She probably picked up some floozy, got them to pay for a cab back to the hotel, had crappy sex and passed out. If she was lucky, they'd have decided to leave after they got what they wanted out of her.

Which is why she was shocked when the covers were ripped bodily from her, leaving her blinking with her jaw dropped open. "What the f-" the words broke off in a pained hiss as light flooded the room from the curtains being forcibly shoved open.

"First rule." The voice that spoke was calm and carried a ridge of ice cold control while being sweetly feminine in that way that always got Santana going, "No swearing. I don't like it. Second rule, no more staying out all night drinking. Third rule, no more casual sex. You're lucky you're not already infected with a dozen disgusting things already."

Santana blinked against the pain bringing tears to her bloodshot eyes, shading them with a hand as she tried to see who the hell was interrupting her recovery time. All she could see was a slim, feminine outline in what looked like a suit and she had to wonder if she'd somehow dragged a ballbuster home with her by mistake. "Who the hell are you?"

"You don't ask the questions here, Santana. But I haven't fully informed you of the rules yet, so I'll allow it this once. My name is Quinn Fabray, but you only have my permission to call me Miss Fabray." The woman stepped closer, revealing blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and pale skin. "Fourth rule, you do as I tell you to. No questions and no exceptions. Four rules. Simple enough. You break them, and you'll be punished."

"Fuck that," Santana growled, shoving up out of bed to waver back and forth in front of the primly clad woman pulling on a pair of white gloves, "Santana Lopez doesn't do what some blonde bitch tells me to do."

"This is your only warning, Santana. You signed the contract. You are legally obligated to abide by the terms of it." The woman came closer and Santana barely kept from gasping at the cold beauty of the woman.

"Fuck you, I didn't sign shit!" Santana growled, throwing a punch at that perfect pale face and red lips.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Quinn murmured, sidestepping the sloppy punch and driving a fist hard into the other woman's stomach, making her lurch forward with a retch. "But you were warned." An elbow drove down into the back of Santana's head and she dropped hard.

* * *

When she woke again, she found herself sprawled out on the bed again, arms and legs stretching towards the corners. She smirked, figuring that the previous encounter with the Fabray bitch had just been a figment of her imagination. Then she realized she couldn't move.

She frowned, trying to open her eyes only to find everything stayed dark. "What the fuck?" She tugged on her arms experimentally, chains rattling softly against wood, finding herself well and truly tied with very little wiggle room allowed.

A light breeze blew over her breasts, making her nipples tighten even further against the feeling of cold metal closed about them, pinching firmly. She tried to squirm, only to find her legs were being forced apart by a spreader bar between her knees as well as cuffs at her ankles. She jumped as something ice cold was slid into her body - which she was only beginning to realize was completely naked - filling both her ass and cunt.

"Ah, that's better."

That _voice_. Santana growled and tried to fight against the restraints to get at it. "Who the fuck _are_ you?!"

"I _told_ you," the voice, smooth as the whiskey Santana was suddenly wishing she hadn't drank last night purred in her ear, "and you're not _obeying_, Santana."

Suddenly, fire shot through her as the metal around her nipples clamped tight, making her body arch off the bed despite the restraints. She almost didn't notice the vibrations slowly building between her legs. "W-what? W-what the _fuck_?!"

"Rule number _one_, Santana." The voice purred again, the vibrations between her legs intensifying and making her squirm and try to push her legs together, but the spreader bar and restraints kept it from happening. A tug on the cool metal chain hanging between her breasts and fire shot through her again as her nipples were caught in a wicked pinch. "You need to learn to obey or you will be punished."

"F-_fuck_ you!" She managed to growl, barely holding on despite the white lights flashing behind her eyelids.

"Wrong answer." There was a soft click and the vibrations intensified again, causing her orgasm to crash over her. She tensed, shuddering, a thready scream hissing out between clenched teeth. Another soft click and the vibrations stopped. "Have you learned yet?" Santana managed to growl low in her throat and tried to surge up again. "I see not."

The vibrations began again, making Santana scream only to choke off as the clamps around her abused nipples started vibrating themselves. She jerked and shuddered, fighting against the restraints as the vibrations ripped through her core and ass, pushing her to orgasm after orgasm. Her cum dripped down her legs as she was forced to climax after climax, pooling beneath her thighs in a growing damp spot mingling with the sweat pouring from her spasming body.

When the vibrations stopped again, she felt the soft roughness of a cotton glove sliding down her body, pausing over a breast, fingertips lightly brushing a painfully erect nipple. "Have you learned, Santana? There are rules and rules must be followed."

Santana growled low in her throat, exhausted and her body feeling like one giant raw nerve ending, but her ego wouldn't let her back down. She could hear a soft tsking before the gloved fingers grabbed her nipple in a unforgiving grasp, twisting and pulling so hard she thought it might be ripped off. She let out a breathless shriek followed by a sharp gasp at the feeling of the eggs that had filled her ass and cunt being yanked out.

"You need to _learn_, Santana." The gloved hand came down in a hard slap on her engorged and sex sore core making her cry out. "What does it take to _teach_ you?" Again she was slapped between the thighs.

"S-stop," Santana's voice was husky so she tried again, "P-please! S-stop... just stop..."

"No." The voice was curt as two gloved fingers shoved into her abused core, pumping hard. "Not until I'm sure you've learned to follow the _rules_, Santana."

Santana screamed, partially in pain and partially from the orgasm thundering down over her harder than the ones before it. Her body arched as she felt a third finger stretching her roughly, the glove absorbing her juices and reducing the lubrication as she was fucked hard. "S-stop," she sobbed, "p-please!"

"Have you _learned_?" The voice purred in her ear, another hand tugging on the chain between the clamps still attached to her nipples, sending fire rippling through her again.

The orgasm hit hard, leaving her a sweaty, shaking mess on the bed, her cum soaking her torturer's glove and coating her arm to the wrist. She sobbed for breath, "y-yes... p-please," her voice was a mewling whine, desperate for release.

The fingers pulling out of her abruptly hurt but not nearly as much as when they'd gone in the glove was so saturated with her fluids. She nearly sobbed with relief as the metal clamping her nipples was pulled away and soft hands released her from her bondage, letting her lay in the puddle of her own fluids on the bed. She couldn't even move enough to close her legs after the bar was pulled way.

"Remember this, Santana." The voice purred again as the blindfold was pulled away, letting her see the cold blonde devil woman that called herself Quinn Fabray. "This is punishment. Obey and follow the rules or it will happen again."

She couldn't move to acknowledge her or anything. All she could do was listen as things were cleaned up and soft footsteps crossed to the door followed by the suspiciously familiar sound of what she thought was a suitcase being wheeled across the floor.

"We leave tonight at six for your next tour stop. Be up, cleaned, dressed and in the bus waiting by then."

The door clicked softly behind the woman as she walked out of the room and Santana just laid there and wondered what had happened.


End file.
